


Moirai

by TrinityEverett



Category: Castle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Related, F/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrinityEverett/pseuds/TrinityEverett
Summary: During her Christmas Eve shift, Beckett has an experience she cannot explain, an experience that shapes the rest of her life. Secret Santa AU. Caskett
Relationships: Kate Beckett/Richard Castle
Kudos: 7





	Moirai

**Moirai**

**A Secret Santa AU Story**

* * *

Too many eyes track her movements as she makes her way back to her desk after seeing her partner into the elevator and off for the evening. It's supposed to be light at the precinct, a skeleton crew, but it still feels like every cop on the floor is watching her, feeling sorry for her.

"What?" she asks finally, glaring at Eldin.

Her fellow detective shakes his head, feigning innocence. "Nothing, Beckett. Just… you broke tradition back there." He gestures toward the elevator, toward the sprig of mistletoe she had purposefully ignored when Castle was still here. "Isn't that bad luck or something?"

Her eyes roll. "Shut up. You still trying to collect on a pool or something?"

He grins. "Maybe. But you weren't imbued with the Christmas Spirit, so looks like I'll be losing that one."

"Bah humbug," she drawls, dropping onto her chair, ignoring the pang in her gut at Castle's absence. At the heaviness of her fib that still lingered between them.

Sure, Castle had smiled and said all the right things – he's not upset, he doesn't mind not spending Christmas together, he just wishes she'd told him from the start – everything she needed and wanted to hear at the time. But she knows despite all of that, if he'd been given the option, he wouldn't have chosen this for their first Christmas as more than just partners.

But she has. This is what she does, who she is, and even the intimacy she's found with Castle doesn't change that. Someone has to keep watch so others don't have to worry; why shouldn't it be her?

"Okay, okay, Scrooge McBeckett. But just know I have another eight hours to win. Just text me and let me know if I can claim my prize."

Beckett waves him off, turning her attention to her computer monitor. "Go Elf Yourself or something."

Eldin laughs, lifting a hand in farewell. "I'm leaving in ten. Merry Christmas, Beckett."

"You too," she murmurs, shaking her head at his back. The teases about Castle are nothing new, it's just the first time that they're actually true.

She should have kissed her partner under the mistletoe before he left, if only to show him she's not opposed to the holiday, to the cheer and making merry, she just needs time – baby steps. Not time. After last year, she knows he associates "needing time" with silence and hurt, and that's not what she wants on his mind.

She is trying. She should've made sure he knows that, if nothing else. She's just not there yet. She's not at the decorate every surface in red and green, gorge on home cooked food, and sit around sharing laughter with the whole family stage. Her hand finds her mother's ring tucked beneath her shirt. It's been a long time since she's had a whole family.

Briefly, she considers sending him a text, giving him an explanation and a promise that it will be different next year, but the words stick in her mind. She can't make that promise, can't get his hopes up that way. So she puts her phone away, returning to the stack of reports she has to file before midnight. The boys have already left for the day – Ryan for the better part of the next week – but she'll be fine; she has their notes. The work will go smoothly and give her plenty of occupy herself with beyond contemplating what her relationship with Castle will look like a year from now.

An hour later, she looks up to find the bullpen has cleared out even more. Sanders sits at his desk on the far side of the room, Miller's coffee is still steaming on her desk, and she watches a few unis come and go, but otherwise the place is empty and quiet.

She almost hates herself for how much she loves the precinct like this, how comforting it is to stand sentinel, keeping watch when nobody else is around. It feels like home, almost more than her own apartment does. And yet, there's still a heaviness against her ribs, unease and regret.

As the final stains of sunlight spill through the windows over the stairs, Kate gets to her feet, shaking fatigue from her limbs in order to take a walk. Her first stop is the restroom, but she already knows the last will be the break room for a cup of mediocre, clumsily made coffee.

Christmas cookies greet her when she completes her circuit of the floor, the plate somehow still stacked high with cheery snowmen, Santas, and Christmas trees.

"It really is empty in here," she says to herself, chuckling at how inane it sounds. Of course it is. It's probably the only time of year that baked goods will last for more than fifteen minutes; she should really savor it.

She starts the coffee maker, listens to it hiss and bubble to life as she piles a snack plate high with treats. She can indulge, can't she? It's not like anyone else is going to eat them before they get stale, after all. (She makes a mental note to find a container for whatever's leftover at the end of her shift, just to be courteous to everyone who's on early tomorrow.)

While her coffee trickles into the first clean mug she can find – the blue one Castle has taken to using for her, she notes – her teeth take a chunk out of a snowman's body. It's all she can do not to hear Castle mimicking screams and Kate (unsuccessfully) smothers a snicker.

If he were here, she's sure he would arrange the cookies in some kind of ridiculous tableau homage to their last case. A half-eaten Santa as a 'victim,' maybe. Snowmen cops standing around the "body." For a minute she considers doing it in his stead and sending him the pictures with pride, but she refrains, closing her fingers around the mug handle and taking her coffee and her plate back to her desk. This is her work, her life. It's not a joke and she won't treat it as one, even in cookie form.

"Hey, Detective Beckett."

Kate lifts her head, blinking the cloudiness from her gaze and searching out the clock first, then the source of the greeting. It's been almost an hour since she sat back down, apparently, but the lack of progress she's made would suggest far less time has passed.

"Hey, Harrison. What's up?" She sits up straighter, noticing that the young uniformed officer and the bedraggled woman at her side both do the same.

Harrison adjusts her hold on the woman, loosening her hand just a bit but not releasing her entirely. She's not going anywhere, wouldn't get far if she tried, but it never hurts to stick to procedure.

"I hate to do this to you, but do you think you can lead her down to holding and get her checked in? I just got a text from my husband when we were on the way up: he's got phone access tonight and I don't want to miss more of the window than I already have. It's been weeks since we've-"

Kate cuts her off, already getting to her feet. "Of course. Go, go."

"Thank you," Harrison breathes. "You are the best, Beckett."

She smiles, accepting the compliment without arguing, even though there's nothing to it. Officer Harrison's husband has been deployed for years, almost the entirety of the young couple's marriage; she isn't going to deprive the woman of the chance to speak to him, especially not on Christmas.

"Come with me, Miss…" she trails off, looking to Harrison for the details.

"She won't tell us. Found her at the Murphy scene, no ID, totally uncooperative."

Beckett nods. "Got it. Go take your call."

Once Harrison disappears around the corner, she turns back to her charge. The woman is older, homeless if she has to judge by her general appearance, but her eyes carry a deep wisdom.

"Can you tell me your name, ma'am?" she asks, closing her fingers around the woman's upper arm. She gets nothing in reply, though there's also no resistance when Beckett leads her away. "Do you understand that obstruction is a serious offense? If you know something about Mr. Murphy's death, ma'am, you need to tell someone."

Again, nothing. Not that she'd expected much else, but it never hurts to offer the option to talk. Sometimes a different personality, a different energy, just makes the difference.

Her charge is silent the entire way to holding, uttering not a sound as the officer at the desk collects what few personal effects she has and drops them into a bag labeled 'Jane Doe.'

"I'll walk her back," Beckett says waving Manny at the desk off. "Helps me avoid my paperwork."

"Surprised you're not with that partner of yours tonight," he remarks, no hint of a tease in his voice. He'd been on duty the morning after Tyson visited Castle, he'd seen… well, more than he should've but his silence speaks volumes as to his feelings about it.

"Christmas shift is what I do, Manny," she says, careful to keep her voice steady. Manny just nods, opening the door to holding for her.

The mystery woman in her custody makes her way to the cell, dutifully sitting on the bench as she closes the door.

"Kate."

She stops, startled at the use of her given name.

"I know many things, Kate. Clotho knows."

Brow furrowing, she lifts her eyes to find the mystery woman watching her, her eyes keen and knowing. Beckett doesn't ask how she knows her name – there are plenty of ways to find that out – instead she continues with the task at hand.

"Is that your name? Clotho?"

She's met with silence.

"What can you tell me about Adam Murphy's murder?" she asks getting to the point. It's not her case, but she'd walked past the murder board at the other end of the room enough in the last day to have taken in the broader strokes. "Did you see his killer? Are you his killer?"

"Do you remember?" the woman continues, ignoring Kate's questions in favor of posing one of her own.

"I remember plenty of things, ma'am. I also remember that you were brought in for a reason: Adam Murphy is dead and you're making it harder for us to find his killer. So let's skip the cryptic comments and get to the part where we talk."

The woman smiles, but she notices it lacks something. Warmth, maybe. Whatever it is, she finds herself shifting in place, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

"You wore your hair in braids every year, every Christmas Eve," the woman continues, her voice growing vacant. "Every year except that one."

"Look," Beckett says, cutting her off before her ramblings can continue. "If you know something, it's in your best interest to help us. But I can promise you, the DA isn't interested in how I may or may not have worn my hair on Christmas Eve."

"She curled it for you that year – after you almost burned a section of it with the iron when you insisted you could do it yourself."

Beckett freezes. There's… only two people on the planet know about her misfortune with the curling iron; the third took that mortifying secret to her grave. There's no way this woman–

"Even with that, the yelling and the tears, you thought it was your favorite Christmas. The gifts, your time with your parents, and," she pauses, offering Kate a devilish but oddly empty smile. "Your first kiss."

"That's enough," Beckett clips, stepping back. She's done listening to someone who is obviously in need of a psychiatric evaluation make guesses about her past to distract her. "I'll leave you to consider your options. An officer is right outside when you decide."

She makes it almost to the door when the mystery woman speaks again, "You could have a Christmas like that again, Katie. But you're afraid."

Beckett slams the door behind her, ignoring Manny's inquisitive look.

"Still not talking," she says, stepping away. "Have a good night, Manny."

He smiles, easy-going as ever. "You too, Detective."

She goes straight back to her desk, grabbing an open case file and diving in again. She won't dwell on the ravings of a mad woman, no matter how much she may have gotten right. After all, what teenager didn't fight with their family and try to change their hair? And lots of kids received their first kisses around that age.

So why can she picture all of it so easily? The delicate kiss Michael Davis had given her outside her apartment, the overwhelming sense of closeness to her mom and dad as the clock struck midnight, the acrid stench of singed hair.

* * *

The night wears on in alternating bouts of activity and complete silence. On one hand, she's grateful for the chance to speed through her paperwork, but on the other, she spends the quiet times thinking the mystery woman's words over. She's on the verge of heading back to holding and demanding to know what the hell the woman was talking about and how she could've possibly known, when her desk phone rings and she's summoned downstairs instead.

She's welcomed by melodic voices and eager chatter as soon as she steps off the elevator.

"Hey, Detective Beckett!" Hastings smiles from the desk.

Kate has to wonder if the officer volunteered for this shift the way she had, and if the other woman's writer is as understanding as Rick.

"Hastings, hey. Didn't expect you to be on tonight."

A shadow passes over the younger woman's face only to clear a split second later. Beckett can't help but think that's the answer to at least one of the questions.

"It seemed right. Let Henderson have the night and part of the morning with his family, you know?"

She nods. She knows that all too well. "Yeah," she agrees, turning back to the crowd gathering in the lobby. "So, carolers, huh?"

Hastings grins. "Yeah, they came in a couple minutes ago and asked if they could sing in here. Had to send them all through security, but they checked out."

She nods, surveying the lobby as the din dies down and the carolers warm up.

The first few songs are jolly and upbeat, things everyone knows, and Kate finds herself swaying and humming along. It dawns on her in the middle of Jingle Bells that she should record this and share if with Castle, show him there's room for a little bit of hope and light in the precinct, too. She films for a minute or two, showing him the carolers, the happy faces of her fellow cops, even sneaking a shot of her in the video as well, sending it off without comment and slipping her phone back into her pocket to watch the rest.

He really would love this.

The jovial, cheerful atmosphere fading away as the carolers begin the next song. It's a melody she doesn't recognize, and Kate finds herself swallowing hard. The song is somber, but beautiful, almost haunting; a story of love and loss and sacrifice that leaves her entirely too unsettled.

The lobby is quiet and still as the last note fades out, everyone waiting a beat before applauding, but Beckett can't make her limbs work to do the same. She can only hope nobody notices her hesitation.

She retreats upstairs as the final song – a cheerful ditty this time – begins, unable to shake the blanket of melancholy, of lack. Her computer has long-since gone to screensaver, some silly bouncing ball that Castle must have set when she wasn't looking, and she unlocks the machine with chilled fingers. Her latest report waits for her, half-filled, and she does her best to push her uneasiness away and go back to work.

Instead she finds herself drifting, her mind straying to Castle. He hasn't responded to her text, though she's not sure she should expect him to, given the festivities he'd described for Christmas Eve night. The cooking and boisterous family meal, exchanging gifts before a movie. Yeah, he's not going to be checking his phone in the middle of the evening. No matter how fervently she wishes he would.

A voice in the back of her mind reminds her that she could be there, too, could be standing beside him in his kitchen preparing dinner, sitting at his side at the table to eat; curling under his arm to watch the _It's a Wonderful Life_ marathon (and having some other kind of marathon that absolutely makes life wonderful). She wouldn't need to wait on tenterhooks for a response if she were there.

"Excuse me?"

Beckett looks up, forcing her musings away in order to focus on the small voice at her elbow.

"Hi." She looks around the bullpen to see where this child has come from. "Can I help you?"

The little girl scuffs her foot, but steps closer.

"You don't have to be here, Kate," she says, her voice low. "Not anymore, you know that."

Her heart stumbles. What the hell? How could this child know–

"Where are your parents?" she asks, looking around again. That's the most important thing, finding out where this little girl came from and returning her to her loved ones. "I can help you find them; I'm sure they're worried."

The child laughs, melodious and sweet. "They're not here. You know that."

Her brow furrows. She knows that? How would she–?

The carolers. That's why this child looks so familiar; she'd been downstairs with the singers. The girl must have wandered off in all the cheer and hubbub and gotten separated.

"Okay, we'll go ask Officer Hastings if she knows where they were going next, and we'll get you back to them."

Kate stands, offering the little girl her hand. The child giggles again, shaking her head. "There's nothing to find here; you should go to him instead."

"Can you tell me your name?" Beckett asks, forging ahead. She'd been talking to herself and this kid is repeating her mumbled musings, that all.

Bright eyes stare back at her. "Lachesis – Lacy," she says finally.

Kate nods. "Nice to meet you, Lacy. You already know my name is Kate. I'm going to help you, okay?"

"Okay," Lacy agrees, slipping her hand into Kate's.

It's almost instantaneous, the change in the air, the sense of being elsewhere, and Kate sucks in a breath, looking around to find warm, happy Christmas decorations on the walls beside familiar quirky trinkets. There's no question where she is – or where she's imagining herself to be – she's at Castle's.

She's looking in on his Christmas.

Soft jazz plays in the background, acting as a comforting white noise alongside the rumble of chatter and clink of utensils on cookware and plates. Her partner comes into her field of view a moment later, looking cozy – and hot – in dark jeans and a dark shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbow.

"How's it coming, sous chef Castle?" he asks stepping around his daughter.

Alexis grins, lifting her stirring spoon in triumph. "Nearly there, chef. You?"

Castle nods, clasping his hands. "Good to go. And Gram's contribution is already done as well – she's enjoying it currently, in fact. So we're just awaiting your delicious mashed potatoes and we'll be ready to feast."

Kate stifles a smile. It's nice to see their harmony, even if it's all in her mind (which it is; this is all an elaborate daydream that she needs to snap out of).

The warm feeling trickles away with the flick of Castle's eyes toward the door and the sink of his shoulders, though he tries to hide both actions from his daughter.

Alexis notices anyway. "She might still come, Dad. Maybe she'll get off work early. Or decide to skip it. I mean, she knows how much it means to you."

To his credit, he smiles and indulges his daughter's optimism, even though Kate can tell he doesn't believe it.

"Working Christmas Eve is important to Beckett, pumpkin. I wouldn't want her not to do it just for me anymore than I want you to stay and be miserable instead of going out with Max. Being here isn't an obligation and I don't want you or Gram or Beckett to feel like it is."

Her heart plummets. This is how he really feels? Has she somehow convinced him that being with him would be out of obligation and not because she wants to be?

"No," she murmurs. "That's not–"

He doesn't hear her, of course. Whatever this is, hallucination or fantasy – yeah, some fantasy, hearing her boyfriend describe their relationship with that degree of resignation – it's not interactive.

"It's not like that," she insists anyway, turning to face her companion. The girl at her side says nothing, but still she's compelled to explain, "This is my tradition, just as that's his. It's not about indulging him or feeling like I have no choice if I am there, it's just–"

The rest of her protest dies in her throat as the warmth of Castle's kitchen fades away and is replaced with the mustard yellow walls and mahogany trim of the precinct.

She's still at her desk and the child with the haunting deep eyes is gone.

* * *

Castle finally responds to her texts, and though he says nothing that could be taken as unhappy, she can't help but wonder how much of it is a front for her sake, or a way of convincing himself that it's actually okay. Regardless, she finds herself doing the same; pretending that this is just another night when they're apart, that she's not losing her mind and suffering through some kind of sugar cookie indigestion-inspired bad dream. Daydream. Whatever it is that's happening to make her mind wander like it is, she can't make it stop.

Thankfully, she doesn't have too much time to wallow or worry again about her altered state, because Hastings calls her name and gestures to the box.

"Got one of yours, Beckett – Perkins case – if you want to have a chat with her."

Beckett nods, reaching into the drawer where she keeps her in-progress cases and retrieving the file. She gives it a quick look, but she doesn't need much of a refresher: Dan Perkins, 38, found in his car in his parking spot outside his brownstone with a trauma-induced bleed in his brain.

They'd liked his wife for it at first, but she had alibied out and her financials had corroborated it; she'd been in Montreal for work at the time. Two other suspects later, the case had grown cold, leaving Beckett's team frustrated – even Castle, whose solutions of ghost killer and ninja assassin had been offered halfheartedly toward the end. But if they've managed to finally get a real lead…

She blinks hard when she steps into interrogation to find Anita Perkins at the table, wringing her hands, looking disheveled to say the least. The woman has always been coiffed and perfectly poised, even when getting the news of her husband's death. So this nervousness, this fidgeting, this transformation, is surprising.

"Mrs. Perkins, I'm sorry I haven't been in touch lately. What brings you by?"

Anita Perkins takes a breath, releasing it in a shaky exhale. "I have a confession to make," she says, licking her lips. "I did it, I killed him."

Beckett blinks. "I'm sorry, you're – are you saying you killed your husband?"

Anita nods. "He was… god, you have to understand. We were perfect for so long, and then we just… weren't. He was never home, always choosing long hours and his work over us, and I… it wasn't a marriage anymore."

Maybe not, but one has to think there would be another way to end a marriage besides murder.

"Why didn't you just leave? Or ask to go to counseling?"

Anita sniffs, suddenly the haughty woman Kate remembers once again. "Counseling was the first thing I suggested, but to Dan, nothing was wrong. And if I left… well, I might as well have been dead myself, for all I'd get thanks to the pre-nup."

"And this way you get everything and he's the one who lost it all," Beckett murmurs, noting the way Perkins deflates.

"I didn't set out to kill him. I flew to Malta on my weekend off, specifically to _talk_ to him, to try to get him to see. But he was just so – so – argh! He acted like I was the one with the problem, the one who had no business being upset because I knew what I'd signed up for when I married him. And I just snapped. I hit him, I kicked him, I-I shoved him, and he hit his head on the floor – hard." Anita looks down at her hands. "He got right back up and I left, and that was that. I never saw him again."

Beckett looks her over, taking in the hunch of the woman's shoulders. "Why lie? Why not come forward and admit that it was an accident?"

"because I knew how it would look! But I've been sitting at home all holiday long and I-I felt so guilty, and I just couldn't anymore. He died because of me, I did it."

Beckett nods after a moment. "Thank you for your honesty, Mrs. Perkins. I'll send someone in with a notepad to collect your official statement. You'll be asked to affirm that your confession was freely given, without coercion or intimidation. After that, you'll be booked and taken to holding. If you'd like to call your attorney, then…"

Anita nods. "Thank you, Detective."

Beckett watches her for another minute or two, catalogs the woman's body language, the defeat. Her stomach rumbles when she stands, signaling that perhaps Christmas cookies and coffee alone aren't going to carry her to the end of her shift. She doesn't have many options at this point, though; whatever hadn't already closed earlier is most definitely closing soon.

Glancing around, Beckett gets Sanders's attention. "I'm gonna see if I can scrounge up some food – want anything?"

"Burger and a beer?" he jokes.

"Yeah, I'll just get that beer in a To Go cup for ya."

Kate grabs her jacket off the back of her chair and pulls her wallet from the top drawer of her desk. Maybe the bar they used to frequent before Castle bought the Old Haunt is still open. It's only a couple of blocks from the precinct, so she should be able to get there and back fast.

Although music plays at top volume, the bar is mostly empty. Beckett hides her wince, nodding to the bartender as she nears.

"Hey, Larry," she says, stepping up to the bar, giving the pair of other patrons a short nod as well. "Kitchen still open?"

Larry nods. "For you, sweetheart, anything's open."

She rolls her eyes at the 'endearment.' Larry is older than her father, has known her since she was a rookie, and has never gotten over the need to coddle her when she steps into his bar.

"Can I get two cheeseburgers and fries? To go."

"Heading back to work?"

She nods. "Yeah, I'm on shift until morning. Just needed something to make it through the night without getting hangry at my computer."

Larry laughs, scribbling the order down on a sheet of paper and pushing it through to the bar's tiny kitchen. He waves off her attempt to pay, as well as her protests.

"Merry Christmas. Consider it a favor to me, since I can't freeze the meat and the patties are already made."

It's not the first time Larry has comped a meal for her – despite her protests – and it likely won't be the last, so she thanks him without further protest and settles on a stool to wait.

"Surprised your boyfriend isn't with you tonight," Larry remarks, offering her a water.

Kate shakes her head. "No, he's at home."

"Must be hard, not celebrating together."

"We'll celebrate another time. I'll probably see him sometime tomorrow anyway," she murmurs, wanting to put a stop to the line of questioning. It's bad enough that everyone in the precinct has stuck their noses into Castle's whereabouts, she doesn't need Larry doing it too.

The bartender nods, accepting what she doesn't say as much as what she does. He backs off entirely, in fact, giving her a smile before moving back to the others sitting at the bar and refilling their drinks.

She can't help but breathe a sigh of relief, checking her phone to find a text from Castle detailing his mother's antics after her first two glasses of her extra boozy eggnog. Oh, Martha.

_Tell her to have one for me,_ she replies, sipping her water.

"Order up," Larry calls, interrupting her musings a few minutes later, nudging the bag of styrofoam containers toward her. "Enjoy, sweetheart."

Sliding to her feet, Kate gathers the bag, throwing a handful of extra napkins in on top of the food. "Thanks, Lar. See you later."

He offers her a wave. "Don't be a stranger, all right?"

"I won't. Merry Christmas."

Sanders is understandably glad to see her when she returns to the precinct, but he doesn't linger once the food is in his hand, returning to his desk and leaving her to eat her meal in silence.

Larry's words ring in her ears, joining the memory of what happened earlier, her vision of Castle's apartment. Her shoulders slump with each bite. Although the burgers from O'Toole's are usually good, this one tastes like ash in her mouth. She's here tonight, but tomorrow evening she'll be off and rested, and feel more like herself with the pressure of the holiday having lessened a little. She'll be able to spend it and the day after that with Castle. That will be enough, won't it?

She exhales, dropping her chin toward her chest. After a moment she lifts her head, gasping at the way the rumble of the precinct has faded away, the walls growing dark and indistinct.

A figure appears at her elbow, but she can't determine who it is just yet.

"What's going on?" she asks, looking to her companion only to receive nothing in response. "Are we having a blackout?"

The figure at her side remains silent, merely pointing ahead. Beckett turns, trying to understand what they're pointing at, what they're trying to get her to see. She sucks in a deep breath when they take a step in that direction, following on quick feet.

This time, it isn't Castle's living room she finds herself standing in the middle of, it's hers. Instead of warmth and gentle, easy music, and the smell of home, there's a single lamp on in the corner, silence, and a bag of take out on the coffee table.

Just enough for one.

Beckett looks around, trying to find something that will tell her what this is, what's going on. And then she's there – another her. Still dressed in work clothes, though there's something different about them. Something stiffer, more buttoned up than she's been in years. Her hair is different, too, darker, shorter, straight as a pin. Severe.

The Kate in front of her sinks onto the cushions, releasing an exhale into the quiet apartment. She watches the woman – herself, somehow – reach into the bag and remove a carton, but she doesn't eat.

It's just like when she was a rookie. The meals for one at all hours, the solitude. But it's not that way anymore. She has Castle… doesn't she?

Her counterpart lifts a hand, rubbing her face quickly before pulling her phone from her pocket and bringing up a contact. Beckett doesn't need to be close to know whose it must be. She doesn't dial, though, opening the messages app instead and typing up a text she also doesn't send.

Even from the corner of the room, Beckett can see that most of the previous messages are from her, and they've all gone unanswered.

Castle wouldn't – he loves their back and forth flirting, loves their late-night calls. He wouldn't leave her hanging like that.

"He left you – her," her companion finally says, the voice entirely too familiar. Startled, Beckett turns to face them, finding her own eyes staring back at her – her mother's eyes. What the _hell_? "Last year. You haven't seen him in six months. After he returned the last of your things."

That can't be true. Castle wouldn't – he's in this for the long haul, just as she is. Isn't he? "I don't – why? Because of Christmas? I didn't handle this year well, I know, but he knows what it means to me."

"Three Christmases, to be exact. You didn't lie after the first one, but you didn't try very hard, either. The job was where you hid when your life got too–"

"No. Mom, no. That's not what I'm doing."

"He pushed for more eventually, asked if you thought you'd ever be really ready," her mother – god, _how_ can it be her mother – continues. "He stayed even though you couldn't say one way or another, but it was never the same, and you ended up at odds in your relationship."

Johanna's words slam into her gut like a fist, forcing her to suck in a breath and reach out to brace herself to remain upright.

"But I'm – she's – not working now."

Her companion shakes her head. "You're captain now; you're always working. This is just a break, a means to keep your people from pitying you. You'll be back in your office within the hour."

Shame colors her cheeks as she recognizes herself in every word.

"And Castle?" she asks, her voice wavering. "Where is he?"

"Home. Alexis is with her boyfriend's family. Martha is keeping him busy, but he's terrible company."

Oh, Castle.

"He thinks of what could have been. Holidays with you and your children. Holidays spent in Europe or on an island somewhere. Everything he'd hoped you would have someday."

Her heart trips, terror and delight warring inside her. She wants those things, too. At the end of the day, she wants those things, too.

She turns away from the woman at her side, staring at herself, this other version of herself.

"Call him, you idiot," she urges. "Just call him."

Of course, her plea falls on deaf ears as her counterpart simply takes a bite of her food, looking listless.

"You need to fix this. If you don't, I will."

"You can't, Katie. You can only change things now."

She frowns, looking to the woman wearing her mother's face. It's not her mother, it can't be. "What are you talking about? That doesn't make sense."

"It's not something I offer to everyone; the will of Atropos is rarely changed, Kate. Her path is set, but yours doesn't have to be. Make a different choice and you change your fate."

Kate swallows hard, fighting the urge to yell at herself again for being myopic and tunnel-visioned, for ruining the best thing to ever happen in her lift.

The choice is obvious.

"Hey, Beckett? Beckett?"

Kate snaps up, her eyes searching the room only to find her doppelganger gone and herself half-out of her chair at her desk in the precinct. The woman – Atropos? – who'd shown her what could be and offered her another way is nowhere to be found.

"Beckett, hey," Karpowski greets, cocking her head when Beckett turns wild eyes on her. "You okay?"

"I–" she starts, stopping after a moment to shake the fog from her brain. "I have to go. Can you – do you mind covering the rest of my shift?"

Her fellow detective nods, waving her away. "Yeah, sure. You've been here long enough, go."

Beckett nods, jumping to her feet and grabbing her coat. Her half-eaten burger lands in the garbage on her way out of the bullpen.

"Thank you!" she calls over her shoulder, grinning at Karpowski's wink.

"Say hi to you know who."

It's late – almost midnight – when she all-but runs into Castle's lobby, but she doesn't slow her pace. He'd told her earlier that he always stays up past twelve, so she's not concerned about waking him. She just wants to be there, making this right, making sure he knows she's made her choice and he's it. He's always it.

Her heart trips at the confusion she sees on his face when he opens the door. It's far too reminiscent of the night in May when she'd shown up here and started the process of mending what she'd torn – started the best thing to ever happen to her.

"I should've tried harder," she says, watching his brow furrow. "Working is important to me, yes, but so are you. So is this."

Without waiting for him to answer, she reaches for his face, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks and watching his eyes flutter shut. "Tonight taught me something, Castle. My old traditions were what I needed for a long time, but they're not what I need now. I want to make new traditions with you."

His eyes pop open, pinning her with a bright, hopeful gaze.

"Me too," he says, dipping his head to seal his mouth over hers. "Starting with this," he adds when they part, taking her hand and leading her to his bedroom.

"And then," he murmurs as his hands make quick, greedy work of freeing her from her clothes, "I want to know what happened tonight, what made you change your mind?"

Lifting onto her toes, she paints a kiss across his lips. "I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything. Later."

His fingers wiggle against her hips, tugging her closer. "Later is good. Later is very good."

"Good," she breathes, snaking an arm between them to work at the buttons on his shirt. "Merry Christmas, Rick."

He grins against her mouth. "Merry Christmas, Kate."

* * *

**Some Years Later**

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

"Everybody wake up, it's Christmas!"

Kate groans, turning into her pillow, yanking her husband's arm around her tighter. The terrors will be crashing through the door any second; she'll take whatever extra rest she can get.

Why had she allowed Rick to keep her up so late?

Her husband nuzzles her neck, his lips curving against her skin. One of his legs slips between hers, the motion rocking his hips flush with hers. A smile lifts her lips; yeah, that's why. Their tradition, now pushed back until after presents have been distributed, is something they both take seriously. Of course, they make love more often than just Christmas – and if that ever changes, if they ever become one of those couples who only has sex on holidays, she's staging an intervention – but ever since the Christmas Eve she had her… experience (visions, visitations, whatever the hell Castle might call it), they've made a habit of reaffirming and celebrating the path they'd chosen to walk together.

"Brace yourself," he rumbles, tucking their laced fingers between her breasts.

"Maybe they'll get distracted by the tree and forget we're here," she murmurs hopefully.

Three shrieks let her know that her kids have seen the spectacle that is their Christmas tree and the surrounding presents, but her musing that they might be deterred by it is refuted when Lily calls for them again.

"Momma, Daddy! Come look, come look!"

Rick snorts. "So much for that idea."

Kate grins, twisting her head to offer her lips, initiating the kiss Castle is all-too happy to plant on her mouth. They hum together, coming back for a second kiss, then a third. She turns in his embrace, rolling to face him.

Three wiggling, excited bodies land at their feet, startling them apart.

"Daddy, Mama, s'Chwistmas!" Reece announces, bounding over Kate's legs to flop on Rick. Jake does the same, echoing his brother's glee.

"Momma, you gotta see what Santa brought!" Lily adds, landing in a gangly heap at Kate's hip.

"Wait, are you saying it's Christmas?" Castle teases, stilling Reece with a gentle hand on the back of his head. "How can you tell?"

"The pwesents!" Jake announces, hopping a little too close to Kate's rib cage for her liking. She stops him, trapping his flailing limbs with a hug and a murmur for him to be gentle.

"The presents?" Rick repeats. "Hmm, are you sure those are from Santa and you didn't just mistake our house for a store?"

Lily cackles, sprawling out over Kate's legs. "Daddy, you're being silly!"

Rick gasps, making exaggerated faces at their kids. "I'm being silly? Me?"

Kate smothers a laugh in Jake's hair, but there's no way to conceal the joy blossoming in her heart. For a long time, she hadn't ever expected to have this, had told herself it was for the best if she didn't. And then Castle had made her believe in magic and now she has more than she could ever have imagined.

"Okay, so since you three _claim_ it's Christmas, I think we need to make some coffee and breakfast and investigate."

The boys practically vibrate off the bed in their excitement.

"And you better make sure Alexis and Gram and Grandpa are all up for this, too," Castle adds.

"Oh, I'm sure they're awake," Kate drawls, sifting her fingers through Lily's messy bedhead. "But you guys should definitely go check. Tell them Daddy and I are making coffee and cinnamon rolls to eat while we open presents."

She sneaks noisy kisses before the boys bound off the bed and disappear through the door closest to Rick's side of the bed. Lily sticks around long enough to hug them both and share a wide-eyed _"he really came,"_ with them before she darts off.

"Faith in Santa restored for another year," Castle murmurs, pressing a kiss to Beckett's neck.

She hums, listing back into him. "Good job, Babe."

Her husband shakes his head, wrapping her in a bear hug that speaks volumes, infuses her with his warmth and his gratitude. "That was all you, Kate. The way you let her know that it was okay if she wasn't sure, but that believing is about how she feels as much as it is what she thinks. That was all–"

She cuts him off with a kiss, a firm, insistent thing that leaves him panting against her mouth.

"I learned it from you. All of this – you taught me this, Rick."

He shakes his head again, cupping her cheek. "Reminded you, maybe, but you always knew it."

He presses a delicate, sweet kiss to her mouth, breaking away at the sound of footsteps and excited chatter on the stairs. "And we both know we better get moving before we have a mutiny on our hands."

Thumbing his jaw, she nods. "I'll get the cinnamon rolls, you get the coffee."

Castle nods, slipping away with the same reluctance she feels.

"But, Babe?" she adds after a moment of debate over whether to give him this present now or wait. "You should probably make mine decaf, or at least half-and-half, because–"

Soft hands frame her face, lifting her chin. His eyes search hers. She can only grin, giving her head a little nod, answering the question he's too flabbergasted to spit out.

"Looks like four is the magic number after all," she says, remembering the day they discovered that Reece and Jake were a package deal, the way he'd hummed that song from Schoolhouse Rock during her sonogram.

"I, wow," he stumbles. "Wow."

Laughing, she gives him that. "I know, I know. I practically bought out the store's supply of tests because I wanted to be sure. I'm pretty damn sure."

"Good," Rick breathes. "I love you."

Warmth rushes through her belly. "I love you, too. You're happy?"

The press of his mouth, the eager slick of his tongue over her lip, is the only answer she needs.

"Mommy, Daddy, come on!"

They both groan, sharing a final peck before sliding from the bed. She makes a detour to the bathroom while he lays out the robes and slippers, stepping into his chest once he returns from his own morning ablutions.

"Ready?" he asks, sweeping gentle hands down her back. She nods, bumping a kiss to his chin before stepping away and reaching for his hand.

They leave their room together, index fingers linked, ready to experience the joy of another Christmas together.

* * *

**Moirai(The Fates) were the three goddesses of destiny in Greek mythology.**

_Prompt from Anonymous: For the holidays - Beckett is visited by Ghost of Christmas Past, Ghost of Christmas Present, and Ghost of Christmas Future. (Your choice as to what is the current "present" time)._

_I took this little Christmas Carol tale in a slightly less-ghostly direction, but_ _I hope you like this, Anon (and, as with all prompts I post, I'm sorry it took me_ for-freaking-ever _to actually write it for you)._

_Thank you all for reading. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your support on each and every story I post. You lift me up, make me a better writer, and make my difficult days a little easier. Thank you all._ _I hope you have a magical season._


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